


Roses Are Red

by Dracoduceus



Series: Words With Benefits [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Background Spiderbyte, Background Symmarah, Canon-Typical Violence, Cupid Hanzo, Friends to Lovers, Hanzo and McCree knew each other previously, Hanzo is in denial, Hanzo is so far in denial that it's not even funny, M/M, background mekamechanic, background r76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: Hanzo suddenly finds that his arrows don't work. Instead of flying where he intends them to, they begin hitting his teammates. They claim to not be injured but after they begin kissing, Hanzo begins to wonder.McCree insists that they're fine, that each person he'd hit had been pining for the person they kissed. Still, Hanzo can't help but worry......and he can't help but wonder what it would take for McCree to do the same with him.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Words With Benefits [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1498223
Comments: 10
Kudos: 214





	Roses Are Red

**Author's Note:**

> This was _supposed_ to be NSFW but these two fucking idiots weren't cooperating so I gave up on them. 
> 
> This was one of two pieces I wrote for Valentine's Day. I'll be posting the other one soon.

Hanzo inspected his arrow.

The fletching was still straight, attached correctly, and unbroken.

The shaft was smooth and unbent.

The arrowhead was centered, the tip still intact, and didn’t appear to be damaged in any way.

Frowning, he put the arrow to the string, drew it smoothly, and watched it streak across the room; it hit the dead center of the target.

As he would expect.

And yet…

He drew another arrow, inspected it again, put it to the string of his bow, and fired again; it was just shy of splitting the first arrow in half, if Hanzo had been aiming for such a thing.

All of the arrows in his quiver were the same; all of them flew exactly where he intended for them to go.

Shaking his head, Hanzo walked down range and retrieved his arrows. Each were inspected and one was discarded, as it had been damaged by another arrow. When he returned to his place, he found McCree leaning against the wall nearby, his cigar politely unlit.

Not that Hanzo minded. He had come to associate that particular smell with McCree and came to crave the acrid smell of his cheap tobacco that hung around the air. Others on the team did not agree, so he made sure to only smoke in open areas away from doors and windows.

Come to think of it, though, Hanzo could use a smoke.

And a drink.

_A lot_ of drinks.

“Keep it up and you’ll kill yourself,” McCree said cheerfully.

“Hardly,” Hanzo scoffed.

McCree shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said with a sly smile. “Then maybe I’m just gonna have to indulge by myself.” He wiggled a packet in the air between them, handing it to Hanzo when he frowned and reached for it.

A packet of cigars. Flavored ones of a much higher quality than McCree typically smoked. When Hanzo squinted suspiciously at McCree, he revealed the other temptation he had been hiding beneath his serape: a bottle of golden liquid, the label covered in elegant Japanese kanji.

“Take a break, archer,” McCree said and Hanzo was too impressed to be frustrated that McCree seemed to have anticipated his vices before Hanzo was even aware of them.

Making a show of reluctance that they both knew he didn’t feel, Hanzo cleaned up the area and switched out the target for the next user of the range. They made a stop by Hanzo’s quarters to allow him to change clothes and put away his gear, before hiking out again.

With Hanzo helping to boost McCree up to areas he couldn’t climb on his own (not being a _goddamned ninja_ ), they were able to find a choice spot near the abandoned rocket pad of the base atop a stack of shipping crates. It gave them the perfect view of the sea cliffs and the waves below, all painted gold with the sunset’s soft light.

“Cheers,” McCree said, popping out the cork of the bottle and handing it to Hanzo.

Lifting the bottle in acknowledgement, Hanzo took a sip and smiled at the smooth flavor. It didn’t have the bite of American whiskey that felt like a punch in the teeth.

“What’s the occasion?” Hanzo asked as McCree selected a cigar from the case and briskly clipped the end with the knife on his belt. He traded the bottle for the clipped cigar and allowed McCree to light it for him.

McCree shrugged. “I know how you get, archer,” he teased and tapped a finger to his temple. “Get all caught up in your head. There’s simplicity in binary—win and lose, yes and no—but that ain’t all it’s about, you know?”

“Oh?” Hanzo asked, taking a deep drag of the cigar. Like the liquor it was smooth. He glanced at the label as he exhaled: amaretto.

“Nope,” McCree said and took a long drink of the bottle. A drop of it slipped out of the corner of his mouth and he cursed, swiping at it with his right hand. He grinned at Hanzo. “Maybe you think that you failed, but we didn’t. You have a team to work with you, to balance you on your good and bad days, to work with you and do things that you can’t do on your own.”

Hanzo snorted. “You’re one to talk,” he teased and took another drag of the cigar, puffing out three perfect rings.

“Showoff,” McCree grumbled but he was smiling as he set down the whiskey between them and lit his own cigar. Hanzo decided that he liked the smell of their smoke combining. The bit of bite in McCree’s cheap tobacco, the smooth sweetness of the one that McCree had given him. “One of these days you gotta show me how to do that.”

Hanzo smiled slyly and waited for McCree to take a sip of liquor before saying, “You hold your lips like you’re sucking on a dick.”

Immediately McCree began choking, spraying liquor all over his front. Hanzo nearly fell off the cliff as he began laughing.

“You ass,” McCree coughed, punching Hanzo’s shoulder.

“I’m not wrong,” Hanzo insisted. He took a long drag of his cigar and blew two perfect rings toward McCree before breaking his composure and laughing at McCree’s comical expression of concentration as he stared at Hanzo’s lips.

McCree shook his head and took another drag of his cigar. They spent the next hour passing the liquor back and forth and laughing as McCree contorted his face and lips to try and make smoke rings.

As the sun set and the air grew chilly, they edged closer together to better share the warmth of McCree’s serape. His right arm curled around Hanzo’s back and he indulged further and leaned into McCree’s warmth.

“Time was, I used to find this cold,” McCree murmured as he stubbed out the last of his cigar. “Now it’s just…nice.”

“Wasn’t the desert cold at night?” Hanzo asked, the alcohol in his system making him feel like some kind of lazy cat. McCree stroked his hip with the arm around his waist and he hummed in distracted pleasure.

“Sure,” McCree agreed. “But it feels different here. Somehow. I don’t know how to describe it.”

After a few more minutes of quiet introspection, McCree patted Hanzo’s hip. “Come on,” he said. “I bet dinner’s been cleaned up and nobody’ll judge us for coming in reeking of alcohol and tobacco.”

Hanzo laughed and stubbed out his cigar, surprised to find that it had long since gone out. He wobbled to his feet and helped McCree to his, nearly falling over with the effort; they both laughed.

They carefully made their way down and, arms looped around each other, they stumbled into the base.

* * *

“Hey.”

Hanzo looked up from checking his arrows.

Across the narrow aisle, McCree winked at him. “Your gear’s all set,” he said. “You’re gonna make me antsy if you look it all over again.”

Frowning, Hanzo looked down at the arrow in his hand. “I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

McCree reached across the aisle and patted Hanzo’s knee. “Don’t worry,” he said with one of those disarming smiles of his. The one that made Hanzo feel like he had a belly full of alcohol, warm and floaty as if a moment away from defying gravity. “It’ll be fine. Just relax a bit. Breathe. Your nerves’re gonna get the best of you otherwise.”

Being coached into meditative breathing by McCree was mortifying enough for him to stop the nervous loop of thoughts. _What if? What if? What if?_

He breathed and then accepted McCree’s challenge to a game of cards. They both cheated and didn’t bother trying to hide it—it was all a part of their game. By the time they cleaned up the deck, it was swollen with extra cards and wouldn’t fit back in the box. D.Va swore at them in every language she knew when she saw them using one of Hanzo’s extra hair ties to hold the stack together in lieu of putting it in the box.

“I hate you both,” she told them when she ran out of things to say and stomped over to her MEKA.

Hanzo and McCree giggled quietly to themselves behind her back and began to gear up. Despite the welcome distraction, Hanzo thought back to the problem of his arrows and couldn’t help but check one of them.

The arrowhead was on correctly, was undamaged. The shaft was straight and the fletching all in place. It would fly true.

It should.

The doors opened and they spilled out into the ruins of Ilios.

* * *

The incantation wasn’t something that Hanzo thought about anymore; he couldn’t feel the way that the dragons peeled themselves away from his skin, he was so used to the staticky feel of them that it simply didn’t register.

He watched his arrow release from his bow, watched the dragons appear.

He watched his arrow bend, turn completely around to fly back over his shoulder. The dragons continued to fly in the line that his arrow should have gone and behind him, he heard D.Va yelp.

Horrified— _what was wrong with him?_ —he spun around and found that she was uninjured, her MEKA undamaged.

“Watch where you shoot your stupid spirit arrows,” she said sullenly, climbing out of her mech.

“Are you injured?” Hanzo asked.

She made a face at him. “It flew right through me,” she admitted as Brigitte jogged over. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Are you okay?” Brigitte asked as she approached. “The dragons cleared everyone else up I think and—” she was interrupted when D.Va grabbed her by the collar of her armor and yanked her down into a kiss.

Immediately, Brigitte dropped her mace—McCree jumped out of the way to keep it from falling on his foot—and grabbed D.Va back.

Clearing his throat, McCree walked past the two. “Let’s give those two some privacy, hmm?” he asked. “And make sure that everyone else really is cleared out?”

As they walked into the ruins, Hanzo’s attention was more on his arrows—searching for flaws that could have caused them to fly that way—than on his surroundings.

“Hey,” McCree said quietly when they were a good distance from the team. He nudged Hanzo’s arm gently with his elbow. “It’s not your fault.”

Hanzo huffed and didn’t point out that in his place, McCree might think it was. “I don’t know what happened,” he said instead.

His friend shrugged. “Weird things happen,” he said with the air of some ancient sage. McCree’s serious face split in a boyish grin. “And hey. I think those two had been dancing around each other for a while now. Think you did them a service.”

“By shooting D.Va?” Hanzo asked incredulously, stopping in shock.

McCree spun and spread his arms as if to say, what can you do? “Hey, it worked, right?”

“And what about Soldier: 76 and Reaper?” Hanzo demanded. “On the last mission?”

The boyish grin was back. “They’d always been circling each other,” he said. “Take it from someone who was around them both back in the day. You were doing them a service.”

Hanzo was not so easily mollified. “What good am I if I can’t even shoot straight?” he asked quietly.

“Sounds like you’re shooting pretty _gay_ to me. Just saying.”

He ignored his friend. “What good am I to the team if I can’t even contribute? If every time I shoot, my arrow goes somewhere else?”

McCree looped his free arm around Hanzo’s waist and tugged him into a one-armed hug. He melted very slightly into it, tipping his head to rest on McCree’s shoulder. “Don’t _ever_ doubt your worth,” McCree told him quietly. “And,” he added in a comical change of mood. He changed his voice to sound like a wheezing old priest. “This too shall pass.”

Unable to help himself, Hanzo laughed and slapped McCree until he let him go. With a lighter heart, they continued their patrol.

* * *

“Come on,” McCree whispered into Hanzo’s ear. He hoped that the cool Ilios air and the darkness hid the way that he shivered at the puff of McCree’s breath against his skin.

Hanzo looked around the team. Most were drowsing or occupied with speaking to the archaeologists who had since gotten over their fear of being attacked. D.Va and Brigitte had left dinner early to a wave of wolf whistles and good-natured ribbing.

“Where?” he whispered back but McCree only gave him a sly smile in return and despite himself, Hanzo found himself following McCree into the darkness of the ruins.

At some point, McCree must have snuck off to set up a little area for them to sit with their vices. Like the Watchpoint, it was at the edge of the cliff and allowed them a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean and the great orb of the moon overhead.

“Don’t got anything fancy,” McCree said apologetically and Hanzo laughed, reaching into his pocket.

“Might not be to your taste,” Hanzo teased. “But this time I ‘got you’, as you say.”

McCree laughed and took the case from Hanzo. He sniffed the cigars and grinned at Hanzo. “Will you join me?”

Reaching into another pocket, Hanzo pulled out a book of matches and a clipper. He handed the latter to McCree and smiled when McCree looked at the initials engraved in it.

J.M.

“Damn fine,” McCree breathed. He spun it around by the handle and tucked it into his palm. “Did you get this for little old me?”

“I was sick of watching you trim your cigars with a knife,” Hanzo teased. “Like a heathen.”

“You just don’t appreciate a good knife,” McCree told him with a laugh.

Hanzo reached into his boot and pulled out a thin throwing knife. “I appreciate a good knife,” Hanzo said, trimming his own cigar. He gave McCree a sidelong glance. “But yours is not a good knife.”

“It’s an heirloom,” McCree protested halfheartedly, though he was no less excited to use the trimmer that Hanzo got for him. He smiled gleefully like a kid in a candy store when it cut smoothly through the wrapping without crushing it.

“’Old’ does not mean ‘better’,” Hanzo sniffed and McCree laughed again. He lit both of their cigars and they leaned against each other against the cold of the night. “Thank you,” he added quietly and McCree snaked his arm back around Hanzo’s waist again, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over his hip bones.

“Anytime.”

* * *

He could feel that something was wrong but he had no choice.

Behind him, he could feel the sun on his back; or perhaps that was just his imagination as McCree summoned his Dead Eye. For the moment, he needed to distract the grunts while McCree readied himself.

Pulling the string back to his ear, he loosed the arrow. To his relief it struck the Talon grunt in the throat.

To his horror, it continued to fly, strangely free of gore, through the grunt before making a near 90-degree turn straight into the air.

It struck Pharah in the ankle and she yelped, flailing in the air for a moment before stabilizing herself.

Hanzo couldn’t afford the time to watch what happened afterwards, too busy fighting for his life. That had been his last arrow and—fortunately, he supposed—the only one that had gone so wildly off-course.

“Draw!”

He rolled out of the way and watched as the grunts in the narrow alley all crumpled. Ten shots from a six-shooter. Hanzo shook his head as he climbed to his feet.

McCree helped him up the rest of the way with a crooked grin. “Not bad, huh?” there was a strange look in his eyes though, and it wasn’t because one was still glowing a hellish red as whatever power that moved through him slowly faded.

“Took you long enough,” Hanzo sniffed.

Laughing, McCree shaded his eyes to look up into the sky. “Well,” he said. “ _That_ happened.”

Hanzo sniffed. “Maybe I should just retire,” he complained, though he knew that he would do no such thing.

“I’d hate to see that,” McCree laughed. “Though the thought of you picking up knitting or something is hilarious.” He looped an arm around Hanzo’s neck. “Come on. Let’s get back to the rest of the team.”

D.Va was sitting on her MEKA and from the disgustingly sweet pet names she was using as she spoke into her phone, she was talking to Brigitte; next to her, Reinhardt was typing on a comically small phone cupped in his hands. Pharah and Mercy were nowhere to be seen.

“I saw them go down somewhere over there,” Reinhardt said too cheerfully for them to be too worried. “Let’s go and collect them.”

“I busted my ankle,” Pharah said sullenly as they found the two hobbling out of a side alley. Hanzo said nothing, not wanting to mention that it had been one of his arrows to have hurt her. “I stabilized myself after Hanzo fucking shot me and then twisted my ankle when I landed.”

So much for that.

“Relax,” Mercy chided. “He didn’t hit you or I would have known.” She winked at Hanzo and he frowned, looking away.

“Yeah, you might want to do something about your stupid spirit arrows,” D.Va said, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

Reinhardt laughed but it was McCree that said, “I don’t see you complaining.” Surprised, Hanzo watched as D.Va flushed bright red and looked away.

“Let’s get back to base,” Mercy said brightly, far too cheerful for someone that was half-carrying someone in full Raptora armor. McCree moved to take her place and waved off Hanzo’s offer of help.

Sullenly, Hanzo followed the group back. He fiddled with his bow and wondered what was wrong with him.

* * *

When the gangplank lowered, Pharah immediately began limping toward Symmetra. Hanzo looked politely away and elbowed McCree when he watched the two with a peculiar smile. Shaking his head at his friend, Hanzo made his way toward the barracks, intent on taking a hot shower and sleeping until he forgot about his blunder.

“Hey!”

Turning, Hanzo saw McCree trotting toward him, his own gear bag hooked over a shoulder. There was a faint glimmer of bronze in his eye, a leftover from his Dead Eye. Hanzo scowled when McCree dropped his right arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon,” McCree said and Hanzo struggled to keep up with his longer strides. “I got a theory. You’re gonna wanna hear this.”

They retreated to their own rooms and then met up again in the wash racks that only three people knew about. They had been used in the Blackwatch days but (almost) nobody used them now. “See,” McCree said as he began stripping, peeling his sweaty clothes over his head and dropping them irreverently on the floor.

Hanzo turned around so he wouldn’t see the way that McCree’s back moved, wouldn’t see the way that his scars moved and wiggled, the way that the tattoos on his back and arms and legs moved with him. The image was already burned in his head and he tried very hard not to linger on his favorite areas.

He began stripping as well.

“Your arrows. I didn’t think nothing of it until I saw you fire them while I was using Dead Eye,” McCree was saying.

Hanzo turned to grab his towel and found McCree completely naked, facing Hanzo. His towel was tossed over one shoulder and not used, as Hanzo would have expected (and in some ways secretly hoped) to cover his groin.

Winking, McCree began walking into the showers and Hanzo tried very hard not to stare at his ass. “So far you shot Soldier: 76,” McCree said, holding up one finger over his shoulder. “Who immediately began…um…I don’t know what they did but I think it was part tentacle sex and part making out—with Reaper.” He ticked up another finger as he walked into one of the stalls. Desperately trying to keep something between them, especially so McCree wouldn’t see his half chub, Hanzo ducked into the stall next to him.

He hissed when he turned the faucet on and was sprayed with cold water. “I was trying not to remember,” he said through gritted teeth as he waited for the water to warm up.

In the other stall, McCree laughed. He yelped as he turned his water on and got the same treatment that Hanzo did. Hanzo hid a smile behind his hand even though McCree couldn’t see him.

“Then,” McCree said, voice wavering as he shivered. “You shot D.Va. Again, she wasn’t hurt, but what did she do? She climbed out of her MEKA and began making out with Brigitte.”

“I remember,” Hanzo said dryly, slowly backing under the water. It was lukewarm but at least it wasn’t cold and he stood there, letting the water rinse the sweat from his body. “I was right there.”

McCree chuckled. “Well,” he said. “So far we know that each pair had been mooning after each other for forever—in Reaper and 76’s case, for literally fucking decades.”

“And?” Hanzo asked impatiently.

McCree chuckled. “And today you shot Pharah and the first thing she did was limp over and make out with Symmetra.”

“You mentioned Dead Eye,” Hanzo grumbled. “Just get to it already.” He was sore and tired and feeling quite useless, in no mood to be strung along.

In the other stall, McCree chuckled again. He could hear McCree begin washing and he hurried to do the same now that the water was much warmer.

“I see things when I use Dead Eye,” McCree reminded Hanzo. “I can see your dragons and Genji’s, for example. Now, when you shot your arrow today, it…changed.”

“Changed?” Hanzo demanded.

McCree chuckled. “You did too, for a split second,” he admitted. “But I mostly saw the arrow. It turned red and it flew through the air as if pulled on a red string. I could see its path, could see its turn before it took it.”

“And your theory?” Hanzo asked when McCree didn’t immediately continue.

In the other stall, McCree gave a strangled laugh. “I think you’re actually fucking Cupid.”

For a moment, Hanzo let the water wash over him as he struggled to comprehend what McCree had just said. His friend was still chuckling in the other stall and from the sound of splashing, he was washing himself as if entirely unaware of the ridiculous theory he had just suggested.

Cupid, commercialized as he was, conjured an image of a child in a diaper that wielded a ridiculous-looking bow and arrow. But then…he considered McCree’s words. Thus far, every time his arrows had flown off-course, they had struck someone who then…well, if they had not been in love before, were certainly in love now.

The thought made him queasy.

“Hey.”

Hanzo jumped at the sound, which was clearer and much closer than it should have been. He spun, nearly falling, and found McCree, his hair plastered to his forehead, leaning against the open door of his shower stall.

Again, Hanzo struggled to keep his eyes on McCree’s face, even though he really wanted to look down and commit that image to memory.

“I know you,” McCree reminded Hanzo, tapping his temple with a finger of the hand that he wasn’t leaning against. “You didn’t force them to do anything. Make a decision, maybe, but you’re not forcing their feelings. They were there before—of that I can assure you!”

Hanzo scowled. “How can you know that?” he demanded. “And how…do I stop this?”

The grin that McCree gave him was roguish. “I drink and I know things,” he teased with the air of quoting someone. Seeing that Hanzo didn’t get the reference, McCree shook his head, his grin still in place. “Don’t. Just let it run its course. I’m sure that eventually you’ll run out of pining idiots to hit.”

Growling, Hanzo turned back and ducked his head under the shower. He thought that he heard McCree sigh behind him.

“I don’t think I can do that,” Hanzo said, voice muffled by the shower.

“You may not have much of a choice,” McCree pointed out sympathetically.

Hanzo grunted. “And how would you feel about that?” he snapped.

He didn’t need to see McCree to know that he shrugged. “Like shit,” McCree said. “But you can at least know that these ‘mistakes’ of yours aren’t all bad.”

Turning, Hanzo found McCree still standing in the doorway of the stall, still naked and dripping water, his face softened in a gentle smile. It made the skin of his eyes crinkle and Hanzo committed that to memory. “I prefer ‘happy accidents’,” he joked weakly.

McCree grinned. He winked. “That’s the spirit.” To Hanzo’s disappointment, he walked back into his own stall and they fell silent.

Though tired to their bones, neither of them knew that the other could sleep just yet, so they ate a small meal and sat on the rec room couches. Hanzo showed McCree how to braid hair and let him practice on the long silver hair at his temples. It meant that he ended up with two lumpy, uneven braids that fell straight down to hang over his shoulders, but it was worth it to see the proud smile that McCree had on his face as he leaned back to take a better look at his work.

Hanzo braided McCree’s hair to curl from his temples around his ear and hang down behind his shoulder. He used the excuse of checking his work to cup McCree’s face in his hands, to turn his head this way and that.

It was tempting to run his fingers through McCree’s scraggly beard which, still damp, stuck out in jagged peaks.

It was tempting to run his thumb along his lips, to find that tiny little scar, to feel the way that McCree smiled; to feel as if he held sunlight in his hands.

Reluctantly he pulled his hands away and announced that he was done. McCree gave him a lazy smile, his eyes half-closed, and like a coward Hanzo fled.

* * *

Hanzo gently brushed his fingers over the fletching of his arrow.

Widowmaker was high above and occasionally he could hear the report of her rifle, keeping his team at bay. He needed to know where she was.

Closing his eyes, he listened for her next shot; he twisted the arrow on the string and without coming out from behind his cover, he shot it in her direction. Through the special lenses he wore, he could see her silhouette in the window of one of the buildings.

There was another silhouette with her and if it wasn’t for her distinct hair and posture, Hanzo wouldn’t have realized that it was the hacker Sombra in there with her. As he watched, Widowmaker took her eyes away from her rifle to look at the other woman. Sombra sidled up behind her, rested her hands over Widowmaker’s hips and Hanzo eyed his next arrow.

This would be the first time that he attempted this intentionally. He was certainly no Cupid, even if his arrows behaved that way.

And most importantly, he didn’t know if McCree was right—if Widowmaker and Sombra were already dancing around each other.

Still…it was worth a shot. Even if he missed, it would be a good distraction anyway.

He twisted the arrow again and fired, watching the arrow arch as perfectly as if he had done the shot in the practice range. As he did—as he suspected after his talk with McCree—he felt the dragons shift. He hadn’t noticed it before but now it felt as if there was a tiny spark that jumped from them into the arrow as it released from his bow.

As he had hoped, the arrow struck Widowmaker’s silhouette and disappeared. He watched her lower her rifle all the way and turn, wrapping an arm around Sombra’s waist.

“Now,” he said into the comms. “Go!”

For a second longer, Hanzo watched the two silhouettes and he wondered…

* * *

“You did it on purpose this time?” McCree asked, sounding rightfully impressed.

Hanzo couldn’t help but preen. “I saw how close they were and I remembered hearing stories of how Sombra and Widowmaker were always sent out together. It was a guess but I suppose it paid off.”

Laughing, McCree looped an arm around Hanzo’s waist and drew him into a one-armed hug. “That’s fucking hilarious!” Hanzo leaned against McCree’s shoulder and smiled to himself. “So, have you figured it out?”

“I think so,” Hanzo admitted. “Do you want to test it out?”

McCree slapped his shoulder and he nearly stumbled. “Shit, why not?”

* * *

_“Why?”_ Mercy demanded when Hanzo helped McCree into Medical a short while later.

McCree was laughing despite the pain he had to be in. Every movement had to be jostling the arrow lodged in his shoulder but still he was laughing as blood dribbled down his shirt.

Swearing, Mercy kicked Hanzo out of Medical so she could treat McCree.

It was just as well because Hanzo suddenly felt sick.

He ran.

* * *

“I have a theory.”

Startled, Hanzo nearly fell out of the tree. After a night spent curled up in its boughs, his body was almost too stiff to catch himself.

“Come down,” McCree said and once he caught himself, Hanzo looked down. His friend had his arm in a sling but he was grinning and holding up a packet of expensive cigars. At his feet was a large basket with a checkered blanket peeking out. Leaning against the base of the tree was a full bottle of Japanese whiskey. “I can’t fix up all of this with only one hand,” he added. “You’re not going to let me starve and suffer here after such a long hike, will you?”

Damn him.

Hanzo carefully climbed down, hiding his wince as he moved his sore muscles after being curled up in the tree.

“You know,” McCree said as Hanzo jumped the last bit down. “Everyone was worried about you. They were all going to open a search party but I told them to drop it. I thought I’d find you here—and I was right.”

He had no right to look so smug.

“What are you doing here?” Hanzo asked. He looked at the sling that held McCree’s injured arm. “Shouldn’t you be in Medical?”

McCree shrugged and winced. “It’s not so bad,” he said unconvincingly. “Ange just wants me to keep it in the sling to keep from hurting myself again.” His hand shot out and caught Hanzo’s chin with surprising gentility. “Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Hanzo pulled himself away and bent to open the basket, tugging out the blanket which he spread out on a section of grass nearby. He began setting everything out without looking at it, anything to distract himself.

Anything to distract McCree long enough for him to escape again.

Grunting, McCree picked up the bottle and sat down on the blanket. “Sit,” he ordered. “I know you; I wanna talk with you before you run away again.”

Hanzo should refuse, was ready to, but he made the mistake of looking at McCree again. His eyes and smile were soft and despite his best efforts, his heart melted.

He was too weak for McCree’s smiles and he knelt in _seiza_ so that McCree wouldn’t see how his legs shook to be the recipient of such a tender look from his friend.

His friend that he had shot.

Hanzo swallowed.

“Eat up,” McCree said, gesturing at the food. “I know you missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning.”

Robotically, Hanzo obeyed, not even sure what he had grabbed. He ate, not tasting the food, trying to look anywhere but at McCree.

“I got a theory,” McCree repeated and took an enormous bite of noodles. It seemed that with food he was also ambidextrous, able to wield chopsticks in either hand. His cheeks bulged out around his mouthful and he jabbed his chopsticks at Hanzo. “It’s all about denial.”

Hanzo said nothing, taking in the way that grease and sauce were getting caught in McCree’s beard, the way that he was reaching for more food before he had even finished his first enormous bite of noodles. He tried to find reasons to find all of this unattractive, to build a wall between him and McCree—to do what he should have done when he had first felt that warmth blooming in his chest when McCree had smiled at him.

It didn’t work, of course. He found McCree exhaustingly attractive.

He was doomed.

He’d probably have to run away again, stay on the run. It would be worse than running from the Shimada- _gumi_. McCree was much more persistent and he knew Hanzo— _really_ knew Hanzo—far too well for him to easily escape.

McCree winked at him as if he wasn’t aware of Hanzo’s inner monologue. Hanzo knew that that wasn’t the case though. “It ain’t just a river in Egypt.” He took another too-large bite of noodles.

If he was going to be on the run, then he may as well eat up. Hanzo dug into the food, not even tasting what he was eating.

McCree finished his bite. “See, Reaper and 76 had always denied whatever the fuck was going on with them. Feelings, fucking, whatever. I think they may have had a fling or two but nothing serious. You shot Reaper and the first thing he did was kiss 76.” He jabbed his chopsticks at Hanzo. “D.Va. She and Brig had been making eyes at each other since they met; you could cut the tension with a fucking knife, especially when they’re drunk. You shot D.Va and the first thing she did was kiss Brig.”

“What is your point?” Hanzo asked with a sigh. He ate another bite of food and sighed.

Chuckling, McCree took another big bite and Hanzo sighed again. It seemed that he would have to be patient for his answer. He couldn’t deny that he was curious about McCree’s theory even if he was planning on drugging his friend later and running away.

McCree picked up a slice of beef, winked at Hanzo, and took a bite of it. “Eat,” he said, waving his chopsticks at Hanzo. “I know you’re hungry.”

With a gusto that he wasn’t feeling, Hanzo resumed eating. McCree winked at him.

“My point,” McCree said when he finished chewing. “Is that everyone you shot was in denial. We can’t fully confirm that Widow and Sombra were pining before, but I bet they were. ‘Ree and Symm certainly were. Now.”

Here he paused and seemed to hesitate. It was such a huge change from his smug, confident attitude previously that Hanzo looked up at him in surprise. There was a flush over his cheeks.

McCree scratched his nose with the base of his chopsticks. “Ah, now here’s the problem. I bet when you shot me, it would’a worked except…” he cleared his throat, hesitated again. “Ah hell. I ain’t never been in denial. Not about you.” He cleared his throat again. “’Least…not recently, anyway.”

For a long moment, Hanzo watched McCree. He shoved food in his mouth again as if to keep from saying more and Hanzo took that time to process what McCree had said. Looking down at his plate, he found that he had, out of habit, picked the pearl onions out of his noodles.

Because he knew that McCree liked them.

He considered McCree’s words. _I ain’t never been in denial. Not about you._

He thought about the spark he had felt when he had shot the arrow at Widowmaker—as if the dragons had attached a tiny portion of themselves to his arrow. Holding out his hand, palm up, he concentrated. Today the dragons decided to manifest as birds: one was a crow, the other some kind of finch.

The finch immediately shit in his hand and McCree choked on his food as he laughed.

It peered smugly at him and cheeped in a voice that was far too deep for such a tiny creature. The crow laughed in a voice that sounded far too human for a dragon spirit that was masquerading as a bird.

**Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt,** the crow said in McCree’s voice.

“Now that’s just creepy,” McCree muttered and the crow laughed. “I’m not sure what’s worse. Your laugh or my voice.”

The finch turned into a crab that pinched Hanzo’s thumb. He bit back a yelp and struggled to keep his arm so that he wouldn’t throw the meddlesome spirits into the air.

Even if they deserved it.

**Have you figured it out yet?** The crab demanded. **Or will I need to pinch you again?**

Making a face, Hanzo recalled the crab. He grimaced when the spirit’s…gift still remained in his palm. The crow laughed again.

The crow hopped along his arm and he winced at the pinch of its talons. It clicked its beak as if in apology and leaned close to very gently pinch the tip of Hanzo’s nose. **If you would shoot an arrow at yourself, you would not be hurt,** the crow said, this time not in McCree’s voice, which was a relief. It pinched his nose again, still surprisingly gentle. **Consider that!**

Then it collapsed into blue mist that settled over his tattoo again. Both spirits, still using him as a bridge between the spirit world and the physical world, felt inordinately smug before they settled again.

Making a face, Hanzo scrubbed his hand on the grass, mumbling his thanks when McCree offered him a packaged wet wipe. They sat in silence for a while before Hanzo tipped his plate over McCree’s, giving him the pearl onions that he’d been saving.

McCree gave him a weak smile. It seemed that the dragons’ words and the discussion of his theory had tired him. Now he was beginning to slump, looking down at his plate.

Swallowing hard, Hanzo leaned over and cupped McCree’s chin, felt the soft brush of his beard against his palm. McCree tipped his head ever so slightly into his hand, closing his eyes and sighing. When Hanzo lifted his head, his eyes were closed.

“You love me,” Hanzo said before he could convince himself otherwise.

McCree sighed again. “Yes.” There was no hesitation; the sigh had been out of relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps it had been.

Now the weight had been transferred to Hanzo. He could feel it settling on his shoulders. “For how long?”

He thought back to all of the little things that he had ignored, not wanting to give himself hope. The times that McCree had wrapped his arm around his waist, not his shoulders; the times that he had rubbed his thumb along Hanzo’s hipbone.

The gifts, the times they had gone alone to some remote corner of the base to spend time alone. The soft way that McCree smiled, the way that he always leaned close to Hanzo.

“A while, now,” McCree said evasively. His eyes opened and Hanzo watched his pupils shift to bring him into focus. Then McCree smiled crookedly and Hanzo traced the curl of his lips with his thumb. “I didn’t exactly write down the date.”

“Hnn.”

Hanzo leaned closer, intending for his lips to follow the path of his thumb but was stopped when McCree put his hand on his collarbone.

A pained look crossed McCree’s face. “Not…if you’re doing this out of—”

“You know me,” Hanzo pointed out. “Would I?”

“You would,” McCree told him dryly.

He had a point. Hanzo shifted and nearly fell over, forgetting that he had been leaning over to reach McCree. He stood and walked over to McCree, moving his plate of food out of the way before settling in his lap, careful of his injured arm and shoulder.

McCree’s uninjured hand settled on his lower back, fingers spread wide, and Hanzo wanted to believe that the touch was possessive; he knew that McCree had only intended to steady him. That didn’t mean that the touch couldn’t change and the thought made Hanzo shiver.

“I would,” Hanzo agreed absently, looking down into McCree’s upturned face. “You’re right and you know it. But…that isn’t why I’m doing this.”

McCree’s nose wrinkled cutely and Hanzo cleaned close to press a kiss to it. The hand on the small of his back clenched and McCree leaned back. He looked pained. “You don’t ever need to tell me that you love me,” he said, his voice cracking. “But you gotta give me something here. You need…I need to know that you’re not doing this because—”

“No,” Hanzo interrupted, looking into McCree’s eyes. He cupped McCree’s face in both hands. “You heard the dragons as well.”

“I did,” McCree agreed. “But I also need to hear it from you.”

Fair enough but Hanzo still struggled to get the words out of his throat. It was never a doubt to him either, but it also wasn’t that he had ever entertained and as such had buried it deep down within him. There was a lot of baggage keeping Those Words back but the understanding—if a bit self-deprecating—look in McCree’s eyes made it easier to say, “I love you dearly.”

The words themselves came out easily and Hanzo was surprised despite himself. They were merely words, after all, for all they held such a weight to them, and the first admission paved the way for more.

“I have been…attracted to you for some time,” Hanzo found himself saying. “Since I had first seen you, I had wanted to see what lay beneath that scowl. At first, certainly it had been out of lust—you are attractive and the danger in your eyes drew me to you. You had a fire that I wanted to consume me and etch itself into my flesh.”

McCree’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “But we met—”

“When you were in Blackwatch,” Hanzo agreed and this time it was his turn to smirk at McCree’s surprised look. “Surely you didn’t think that we were entirely unaware? Then you’d be correct—I was the only one to know your secret.”

Now McCree looked curious. “And why didn’t you tell?”

Hanzo laughed. “To do so would be to admit what I was doing when I learned,” he said, leaning close. “You received a call from your boss and you told me that I better be quiet or he’ll know what we were doing,”

Beneath him, he could feel McCree shiver. “You speak—”

“I may not have understood you, but I do speak Spanish,” Hanzo murmured, letting his lips brush against McCree’s ear. “And I could hear your _jefe_ on the phone.”

“Please never mention him when you’re trying to seduce me,” McCree said dryly even as his uninjured arm slipped beneath the hem of Hanzo’s shirt. The silicone pads of his fingertips rasped against Hanzo’s skin and he shivered. “But enough of that…tell me more about how you knew.”

Leaning back, Hanzo was pleased to see that McCree’s eyes were nearly swallowed by his pupils. Hanzo pushed McCree back so that he was stretched out on the blanket and Hanzo was straddling his hips.

_“I hated letting you go,”_ Hanzo purred in Spanish. _“But we had no future together, not as we were—you as a Blackwatch agent, me as the_ oyabun _. I thought of you often on my loneliest nights. And then I saw you again when my brother offered me a chance to make up for my wrongs. We were too different from what we were and I was afraid of what you might say if I tried to start up what we once had—worse, I was afraid that every sweet nothing you had whispered to me on those nights had been another facet of your cover.”_

He stretched himself over McCree, careful of his injured shoulder. Immediately, McCree’s free hand found his hip, his thumb running over the bone. _“I thought that I had only wanted you for your…assets…but the longer I knew you here, the more I realized that there was more to you—and more to my hunger for you._ ”

“Stop,” McCree growled and Hanzo pulled back to look down at him. At first, he had been afraid that he had crossed a line—despite knowing that McCree couldn’t speak Spanish—he grinned when he saw how McCree had become flushed. His eyes were wild, nearly swallowed by his pupils, and his injured arm was clenched in his sling.

Hanzo leaned close again, smiling when he felt McCree’s grip on his hip tighten. “I feel like we need to have a more in-depth talk,” Hanzo said in English.

“Later,” McCree hissed.

“Later,” Hanzo agreed and leaned down to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> As a side note, I have never been able to successfully blow smoke rings. However, when I asked a friend to teach me, he told me that it was "just like sucking a dick". Not expecting it, I had a similar reaction to McCree. 
> 
> Love it? Hate it? Let me know! I always love hearing from you. 
> 
> You can also find me on twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). There I occasionally post snippets and updates. 
> 
> ~DC


End file.
